


Conversation Hearts

by Jackie_Gaytona



Series: Who We Smooch in the Shadows V-Day Prompts 2021 [1]
Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Candy, Childhood, Cute, Hearts, M/M, Memories, Motherly love, POV First Person, Prompt Fic, Silvia is the sweetest lady EVER, Wholesome af, best mom award, child!Memo, mother - Freeform, sweethearts, valentines day, wws2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Gaytona/pseuds/Jackie_Gaytona
Summary: Day 2 Prompt for Who We Smooch in the Shadows, the Valentines Day WWDITS prompt challenge! The prompt is "Conversation Hearts" aka those little candies with the words on them.Guillermo reflects on his first (and unfortunate) Valentine's Day card experience, and a tradition that formed between him and his Amá.Get ready for some wholesome feels.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Series: Who We Smooch in the Shadows V-Day Prompts 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140962
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Conversation Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is un-beta'd and tbh I didn't really edit much either so please ignore any typos or general stupidity from me (eg. putting words where they shouldn't go). Hopefully it's all good though!
> 
> This was a self-indulgent therapeutic fic from somebody who wishes they had a mum like Silvia XD Comments and kudos greatly appreciated!! <3

When I was in second grade, I had a crush on a little blonde girl called Tara. I was too young to really recognize my attraction to other boys (partly because my limited knowledge of society dictated that boys married _girls_ , and partly because this was the 90s), but I _did_ like a lot of the things that Tara liked: glitter (yes, Nandor would laugh at me), mermaids, Spice Girls, those rainbow-colored snap bands that were all the rage. So to my socially-inept eight-year-old brain, Tara was the perfect gal for me.

The thing was, there were two sides to her; when she was alone with me, we got along great. She would write me letters with paper she’d meticulously colored (by smudging colored pencil shavings around the page). She would share her juice box with me. She would let me play with her Tamagotchi – smuggled into school, of course, because Tamagotchis were the 90s version of a smartphone. When she was with her other friends, though, she would join in with them as they hurtled insults and sticks at me, tore my schoolwork and tripped me up in class. My immature brain easily ignored Tara’s cruelty, though, because she did something that no other girl did: she gave me attention. Alone, she was kind to me. Alone, she was my closest friend.

Valentine’s day 1998, I sauntered up the front steps into the school’s main corridor with all the confidence of a man about to propose to the love of his life, knowing full well that she will say ‘ _yes!’_. In my hand I clutched a slightly-crumpled, twice-folded piece of red paper adorned with crudely-drawn hearts and roses. In shiny gold marker, I’d written ‘HAPPY V-DAY’ on the front (because I had no idea how to spell Valentine), and inside the card, I professed my love to Tara in the form of a badly-written poem that my mind has mercifully repressed for eternity.

I gave it to her in front of the class. I can still see myself, as if from an outsider’s perspective: my squat little frame trembling nervously, dark fringe combed neatly to the side, cheeks rosy with blush, eyes sparkling behind thick lenses while I flashed Tara my most charming grin (news flash: it was anything but charming). She looked at the card, looked at me, looked back at the card, her face impassive, if not a little indecisive. Then a hand came snaking out from behind her shoulder and snatched the card away. One of her friends had grabbed hold of it and was reading it out loud.

Ten seconds later, the entire class was in fits. Pointing and sneering and chanting “Gee-mo loves Tara!” while the teacher looked on helplessly. I can’t really fault Miss Owens; I still remember the bags under her eyes. They’re the same bags I get a day after being thrust into some misadventure with my idiot housemates.

Needless to say, I was instantly heartbroken. But instead of slinking back to my desk with my head bowed and remaining silent and melancholic for the rest of the day, thus attempting not to draw any further attention to myself…I screamed, kicked over a desk, and then collapsed to the floor in a fit of hysterical crying. I remember the sound being sucked out of the classroom as every child quietly gasped…and then the laughter was even _louder_. I was inconsolable. The teacher had to call Amá to the school to come get me.

We didn’t go straight home, though. I vaguely recall telling Amá that I would never have a Valentine, that I would be lonely forever. Amá tsked at me and said, in Spanish, “My sweet Memo, do you remember your birthday last year, how sad you were that you could not have the Bugs Bunny cake? You cried and cried when I called the bakery and they said they could not do Bugs Bunny.”

“Yes, Amá,” I said, remembering. “But then we went there, and they had a unicorn cake. The unicorn cake was so much prettier!”

She smiled warmly at me. “You see, you could not have the Bugs Bunny cake, because the world had a better cake waiting for you. Memo, you will give many Valentine’s cards away as you grow up, and have many Bugs Bunnies before you find your unicorn.”

I remember giggling at that, my tears finally drying. It sounded so silly. “I don’t want to marry a unicorn!”

Amá giggled in return and said, “Come, _mijito_. _I_ will be your Valentine today.”

She took me to the mall and spoiled me with strawberry ice cream and a play in the arcade. On the way out, we passed a candy store and she took me inside. I remember the adrenaline rush; the excitement that I was feeling having just spent half an hour in the arcade with a tummy full of ice cream and now _candy_? The walls of the little store were covered floor-to-roof with canisters of sweets, every color of the rainbow and then some. I was never actually a fan of candy growing up, but the colors all around me were mind-boggling. Amá took a little cup from the dispensary and held my hand, pulling me around the store while she scanned the various canisters for something in particular.

“Ah, Memo!” she said finally, letting go of my hand. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but when she turned to face me, the little cup was full. “A Valentine’s surprise.” She handed the cup to me while she went to the counter to pay, and I marveled at the little hearts inside. Were they actually candy? Could I eat them? They had _words_ on them! Before I could pick one up to read it, Amá grabbed my hand again and swept me out of the shop.

In the car she said to me, “Memo, take out a heart, and whatever it says, is what my heart feels for you.”

I took out a yellow heart, which happened to also be my favorite color, and read the words: “U R MY SUNSHINE”. I grinned at her and hugged her and then, of course, had to play back.

“Pick a heart, _Amá,_ ” I said eagerly, _“_ and what it says is how my heart feels for you!”

So _Amá_ took a heart, glanced at the words, and then quickly popped it in her mouth with a cheeky smile.

“Hey!” I yelled, “No fair! What did it say?” Amá sometimes struggled reading English words and I was worried she maybe could not read it. I could have read it for her!

“Oh Memo,” she said, as if picking up on my concern. “It said ‘I love you’.”

I grinned and hugged her again. “Yes, Amá, it’s true! That is how I feel in my heart!”

Only now, as an adult, I can appreciate the rather hilarious risk my Amá took that day, because some of the hearts contained phrases that were a little less…wholesome. Years later, she would tell me that her heart had _actually_ said ‘Hot Lips’. We still laugh about it sometimes.

After that year, it became customary for Amá to buy me a little pack of conversation hearts for Valentine’s Day. And in return, she became the recipient of my poorly-crafted cards, and she would gush over them and show her friends and stick them on the fridge until they grew weathered and disappeared into storage. The cards stopped when I reached high school, and went through a typical hormonal, identity-seeking, independence-craving goth teenage phase. But each Valentine’s Day, no matter how aloof I was towards Amá, no matter how many times I’d yell at her over this petty thing or that, I would always find a little pack of conversation hearts on my nightstand when I got home from school or a gaming session with friends.

Like all good things in life, though, the hearts didn’t last forever. They stopped when I moved out of home to work for Nandor. My master demanded a lot of my attention (like…a _lot_ ) and as is wont to happen when you grow up and move out of home, I didn’t see my Amá all that often. And whenever I did, enough time had passed for me to notice her aging; notice new stress lines across her forehead and new wrinkles in her hands. And I would feel terrible, _so_ terrible, for not being there for her. Sure, she still saw my Boston-dwelling sister occasionally, and friends and extended family regularly, but I was her Memo. Her Valentine. And on those rare occasions I’d return home for a birthday party or Christmas dinner, she’d pull me into a tight hug and rave about this and that, about how happy she is to see me, how I do not visit enough. She spoke to me as if we spoke every day; as though I wasn’t a bad son that had all but abandoned his aging mother.

*****

Valentines day 2022, and Nandor and I have just returned from Amá’s. In my pocket is a little pack of conversation hearts, but I can’t eat them, because I’m now a vampire. The night went well enough, though. Okay, it went _very_ well, considering I was expecting at least one awkward meltdown from Nandor. But my sweet, foolish unicorn managed to sit through my mother’s ravings about how happy she is that I have finally found somebody and how she thanks God in her prayers every night – this was all in Spanish, mind you, which was a blessing in disguise because at least Nandor wasn’t hissing every time she said the ‘G’ word (it’s all psychological, I keep telling the others. Religious words don’t affect me, after all. Nandor says that is because I am a ‘Catholic millennium vampire killer vampire’ and not an evil, fearsome ancient like him). He managed to smile and nod at Amá’s attempts at speaking to him in English, all the while clutching my hand so hard my finger bones are _still_ hurting. He helped me scramble for an excuse when Amá said I look sick (this was her first time seeing me as a vampire, and thanks to Nandor she only thinks I haven’t been eating enough red meat). He didn’t hiss at any of the crosses adorning the walls. And he tried to compliment the aroma of the human food placed before us. After much back-and-forth, trying to explain that I’d had a big lunch today and Nandor has every food allergy under the moon, Amá and I came to a compromise where she packed the spread she’d cooked for us into Tupperware containers and sent them home with us. Our lucky victims in the cell tonight get a last meal of delicious Mexican!

The highlight of the night was something that had, surprisingly, been Nandor’s idea. I told him last night the story of Tara and the resulting heart candy tradition, and how I wanted to thank Amá for it; for that day, and the years of hugs and kisses and understanding that only now am I starting to really, _truly_ appreciate. Last night Nandor approached me with a set of beautiful, very old gold and ruby earrings that had recently been polished to a sheen.

He was looking away as he presented them, his chin set stubbornly. “I found these useless, boring things while I was cleaning out my chiffonier earlier. And I was thinking, I have no need for silly girly trinkets, why do I even have these? I am a fearsome warrior, I do not like the sparkly jewelries—”

“Nandor,” I interrupted, exasperated.

Nandor shoved the earrings into my hands. He still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I was thinking that perhaps…you can present them…to your mother tomorrow night at our…our meeting.”

I broke out in a smile and looked down at them. They were anything _but_ useless, boring things. I know that Nandor adores his treasures; the sparkly ones the most. “That’s really sweet of you, Nandor. They’re so beautiful,” I said, looking back up at him.

“Really?” Nandor looked at me suddenly, a little surprised.

“Of course.” I got on my tiptoes and pecked him on his stubbly cheek. “She is going to _adore_ them.” If I could still blush, I know I’d have been bright red. When I stepped back, Nandor was grinning.

“Make sure you tell her they are from _me_ , Guillermo!” he ordered. “That way she will know I am very rich and powerful and fashionable and can take good care of her Mee-moe.”

Well, I couldn’t take that away from him, could I? So I left him the earrings and opted last night to find the nearest late-night florist (it was inside a hospital), and buy an arrangement of chocolate roses and a plush brown bear that said “I HEART U”. Nandor was a little disappointed when I told him the bear was not for him, so I let him give _that_ to her, too (guess who Amá’s favorite son is now? Nandor. It’s Nandor).

But Amá’s eyes _really_ lit up at the end of the night, when I gave her the little red card I’d been hiding in my pocket. It was adorned with drawings of hearts and roses, and sparkly all over. Inside read: U R MY SUNSHINE. Tears welled in her eyes immediately, recognition dawning on her face. A hand went to her mouth, partly covering the astonished smile there.

“Oh, _Memo_ ,” she said.

“Look!” Nandor piped up unexpectedly (he had barely said a word all night). He reached over my shoulder to poke the card in Amá’s hands. A waterfall of silvery glitter cascaded to the floor. “I did the glittery parts! Do you like the glittery parts, Amá?”

“I love them, my sweet boys,” Amá sniffled in broken English, and she pulled both of our cold bodies into a warm hug.

Amá was right, in a weird sort of way. I found my Valentine. My unicorn cake who just happens to be a hulking thirteenth-century Iranian vampire with a stubborn heart of gold. But Amá will always be my first Valentine, my first warm, true, innocent love. Nandor is my moon and stars, but in a life where we can no longer enjoy the warmth of morning rays or the beauty of sunsets, _Amá_ is my sun and sky.


End file.
